


CSI MIA/NY: Neon

by lasergirl



Category: CSI Miami, CSI:NY
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-02
Updated: 2010-04-02
Packaged: 2017-10-08 15:10:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 816
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/76932
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lasergirl/pseuds/lasergirl





	CSI MIA/NY: Neon

  
**Title:** Neon  
**Fandom:** CSI Miami and CSI:NY crossover  
**Pairing:** Mac/Horatio  
**Rating:** NC-17  
**Disclaimers:** Many. I've watched this show frivolously for some time, seriously only recently. Extreme apologies if I've seriously messed anything up.  
**Notes:** No one's written any of this pairing (that I could find) and this was the best I could do. Based on events from "_MIA/NYC Nonstop_". They both need to lighten the hell up. Mmmm.

The footsteps and the rap at the half-open door made Horatio look up from his work - notes, damnable notes on knife angles, red lacquer, back entrances and every other salient fact. Mac was in the doorway, leaning tiredly on one angled arm.

"Busy?" His eyes were ice-grey - haunted, tracking - a man hunting elusive and obstinate prey. The hints of dark fatigue painted the skin under his eyes. It was late, far too late and not worth the money for a short cab trip home where he wouldn't sleep anyway. Better to stay up, mainline coffee, burn through it in a blaze of fevered glory.

Horatio cracked the tension out of his neck. "The day I'm not working will be the day I'm dead," he quipped, but the humour left his voice the very moment he'd said it. He watched the words tumble into Mac like missiles, tearing at the fragile shell of self-defense. Shit. "Well..."

"I can come back later, tomorrow, I-" Mac fumbled with his thoughts, half-turned to walk away.

"No," fuck the notes, Horatio was on his feet, halfway across the seedy hotel room before he could realize it. His hand caught Mac's sleeve, the lacing of his fingers onto the muscle of Mac's arm made them both flash - freeze - silent and still as a photograph. Neon from the street painted grim lines across them both.

Mac cleared his throat gently. "Lieutenant?"

Horatio winced, untangling bone and tendons, and relaxed his grip. "I - you don't have to go. Tonight. If you -" Staccato, nervous twitches of speech.

"I wanted to look over your initial report from Miami," Mac was standing too close; Horatio could read the pain lines of his face, even in the streetlight glare, the cheap 60-watt halo from the hotel's floor lamp. Too close. For comfort. "If you're... busy, I can wait."

"It's -" not that simple, Horatio stammered over the palpitations of his own heart, skipping merrily over the fact that this wasn't the place, not the time, the evidence couldn't match up to prove it. Shit. "All here."

Secrets telegraphed by nerves and hormones - electrical impulses, whatever the reason Horatio didn't know - Mac opened his mouth a delicate half-inch, swung in like a dance partner and kissed him. And hard. And Horatio opened his mouth to taste the bitterness.

"Evidence," murmured Mac out of the corner of his mouth, "Show me." His hands were already too hot against Horatio's shoulders, their touch setting off tiny chain-reactions, a rain of sparks down his spine. Horatio shuddered, twisting, insinuating the two of them closer to something stable like upholstered furniture.

Mac's weight rocked the cheap softwood loveseat against the wall, dinging craters in the hotel plasterboard and no doubt waking up all the tricks and lovebirds in the place. The coffee table, with all of the carefully-arranged printouts and pictures, spilled into a paper puddle on the floor. Horatio trod in it, grinding against Mac's thighbone forcefully. No words.

Mac tracked Horatio's cheekbones with his fingertips; put his fingers into his mouth and Horatio bit them. More kissing - they passed saliva and salt sweat and skin cells between them. Horatio grabbed for Mac's cock and won, a victory that sent Mac sprawling bonelessly across the love seat, swearing blue murder. Homicide. Sex crime. Mac tore open his shirt in retaliation, using only his teeth and one hand; the other was busy digging at Horatio's belt. They fell against the curtains, tore them from the track and fell upon them, mouths and hands groping in the cocoon.

Neon lights painted them in ultraviolet, bruised their writhing bodies blue and green. Mac's eyes flashed red when he came, falling over Horatio, coaxing him with his mouth until he too was released. Then.

Sticky with sweat and with sex, they shivered quietly in the wreckage of the hotel room, watching with unfocused eyes the aurora cast on the cracked ceiling. When Mac found his voice it was hoarse. "My wife..."

Horatio smothered that sadness with the palm of his hand, cutting the words off with a touch. His skin was rough against Mac's lips. For a moment they did nothing but look at one another, sideways and wary - the way dogs eye another stranger. Slowly the hand was removed.

"... Would be happy," Mac said wistfully, and kissed Horatio.

And for days afterwards - even back home in Miami - Horatio couldn't get that taste of bittersweet victory out of his mouth.

END.  


Questions? Comments? Feedback always appreciated.


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